Not really a self-analysis. More of a random thought.
Those of you who have played Resident Evil: Something games should know about zee Herb System. Basically something involving three leaves: Green, Red and er, Blue I think.
Green basically heals you of HP. 25% or something. Red cures poisons and status problems, while Blue is well...er, Blue.
Thing is, you can mix herbs together to get more effects. The Blue Herb in particular, is useless on its own, but can be mixed with Green to get something like a 75% Heal.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm like this. I know one or two people who might be Blue Herbs. People who, on their own, appear useless or otherwise weak, yet when working in a team, boosts the overall performance immensely.
I like people like that. Part of this is the reason why I'd like it if I was that sort of person. Part of me thinks all this is just bs****.
Not quite sure whether I'm a supporter or a lone wolf. Frankly, I think most humans are somewhere in between. Caught between the desire for independence, and the comfort of friendship. The need to belong and the need for freedom sometimes clash head on-with painful results. Most people usually lean more towards one side or the other, and hence get the differences in behaviour and such (its in reality alot more complex I guess, but this isn't meant to be a sociological essay)
Green leaves...I guess most of us are Green leaves. I'm probably a Green Leaf too. But should I, and do I, want to change my color?
What is my true color anyway?
Blue leaf or Red?
Or Perhaps its always just been Green after all...
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Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Temperance
And it was in a cloud of impatience, rage, confusion and sadness that a single lone voice spoke out;
Temperance, it said, Temperance.
Who was that voice? God perhaps. A spirit? My conscience? Who?
I'm not sure, but voices like that...are like ice on a hot day.
Suddenly the cloud vanished. A few deep breaths, and everything seemed so much clearer, so much more at peace.
Perhaps in my period of sadness, wondering why I was sad, and whether I should be feel more sad, I began to translate some of that sadness into anger. I never was that close to her, yet there was a strange sort of protective pride - a duty, if you will. As one whom spent the better 16-17 years of his life in the same house as her, watching her doing her morning excercises and drinking that tiny cup of coffee from that same chipped little mug.
Hearing her pray for me, to the gods of heaven, each day and each hour, when I had exams, when I feel sick, when I went overseas, when I went with my friends.
Hearing her words, even as we grew older and she grew sicker; even when her mind was ill it still thought of us - Most hallucinations are of dangers happening to the victim, but her greatest fear was of danger happening to us.
The phone rang every day for six months straight.
And then the phone calls stopped.
Visited we did. Us to her, or vice-versa. All smiles and laughter, yet still it seemed strained. We knew, she knew - everyone knew, but no one said. No one wanted to say. And still I don't know whether it was true.
Of course it had to happen. The bump only sped it up, they said. Only sped it up.
Ha...
Only.
And she lay there, on their bed, and we went every day, and sometimes I cursed at being interupted in my own activities, then cursed myself for cursing, and then saw her on the bed and threw all curses aside, they had no place there, there wasn't enough room for more.
Only blessings were needed. But blessings, unlike curses, never come often enough.
It got worse, she got worse, and so a decision was made. And so five days were set aside, while there they cleaned the bed.
It happened so fast. I didn't know what to say.
Cry? Scream? There wasn't anything like that. So I just kept quiet, wondering why I didn't cry and didn't scream and didn't feel anything; and grew sad at not being sad, and angry at not being angry and slowly, the cloud built up amongst the fog of fever, among the pains of cough.
And then, just when I was contemplating shouting at the blasted priest with his cane and lantern and endless chanting--
The voice spoke out
Temperance.
I still want to know who it was today.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And so I'll remember that word, and remember that day.
Temperance, it said, Temperance.
Who was that voice? God perhaps. A spirit? My conscience? Who?
I'm not sure, but voices like that...are like ice on a hot day.
Suddenly the cloud vanished. A few deep breaths, and everything seemed so much clearer, so much more at peace.
Perhaps in my period of sadness, wondering why I was sad, and whether I should be feel more sad, I began to translate some of that sadness into anger. I never was that close to her, yet there was a strange sort of protective pride - a duty, if you will. As one whom spent the better 16-17 years of his life in the same house as her, watching her doing her morning excercises and drinking that tiny cup of coffee from that same chipped little mug.
Hearing her pray for me, to the gods of heaven, each day and each hour, when I had exams, when I feel sick, when I went overseas, when I went with my friends.
Hearing her words, even as we grew older and she grew sicker; even when her mind was ill it still thought of us - Most hallucinations are of dangers happening to the victim, but her greatest fear was of danger happening to us.
The phone rang every day for six months straight.
And then the phone calls stopped.
Visited we did. Us to her, or vice-versa. All smiles and laughter, yet still it seemed strained. We knew, she knew - everyone knew, but no one said. No one wanted to say. And still I don't know whether it was true.
Of course it had to happen. The bump only sped it up, they said. Only sped it up.
Ha...
Only.
And she lay there, on their bed, and we went every day, and sometimes I cursed at being interupted in my own activities, then cursed myself for cursing, and then saw her on the bed and threw all curses aside, they had no place there, there wasn't enough room for more.
Only blessings were needed. But blessings, unlike curses, never come often enough.
It got worse, she got worse, and so a decision was made. And so five days were set aside, while there they cleaned the bed.
It happened so fast. I didn't know what to say.
Cry? Scream? There wasn't anything like that. So I just kept quiet, wondering why I didn't cry and didn't scream and didn't feel anything; and grew sad at not being sad, and angry at not being angry and slowly, the cloud built up amongst the fog of fever, among the pains of cough.
And then, just when I was contemplating shouting at the blasted priest with his cane and lantern and endless chanting--
The voice spoke out
Temperance.
I still want to know who it was today.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
And so I'll remember that word, and remember that day.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Wonder
Sometimes I wonder...
Is it my fault?
When people cry, or rail at the heavens
Is it somehow my fault?
For not helping when I could,
For not trying harder-
For not simply being there...
And when they shout and cry
and scream anger at the shadows
I wonder-
Who are they yelling at?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just a sinner, nothing more
Is it my fault?
When people cry, or rail at the heavens
Is it somehow my fault?
For not helping when I could,
For not trying harder-
For not simply being there...
And when they shout and cry
and scream anger at the shadows
I wonder-
Who are they yelling at?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just a sinner, nothing more
Thursday, June 5, 2008
In_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Tis the matchstick, the first flame
The Light that God let be;
The catalyst, source-point
Singularity.
The still-sketch, wax-sculptures
Little things we see;
Great speeches, great figures
The Cross on which lay He.
The Symbols, sweet Music
Dreams and not-quite-dreams;
All this
and more--
That turn the locks of life;
Our key.
The Light that God let be;
The catalyst, source-point
Singularity.
The still-sketch, wax-sculptures
Little things we see;
Great speeches, great figures
The Cross on which lay He.
The Symbols, sweet Music
Dreams and not-quite-dreams;
All this
and more--
That turn the locks of life;
Our key.
Empty Space
Just wondering: What do people think of my blog?
A warehouse of emo poetry? A webpage of stories and thoughts?
Or just a collection of angst by some 16-year-old teenager with mental insecurities?
What is the point of this blog anyway?
Do people even read this blog?
Perhaps this is all my blog is.
A warehouse of emo poetry? A webpage of stories and thoughts?
Or just a collection of angst by some 16-year-old teenager with mental insecurities?
What is the point of this blog anyway?
Do people even read this blog?
Perhaps this is all my blog is.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Camp
LDC was for me, a stressful experience. For the first time in my life I found out the kinds of pressure leaders undergo. The stress and constant need to watch out for not only yourself, but everyone as well. I learnt that in LDC.
Funny how the Leadership Development Camp for the Year 2s turned out to be one for me as well.
Guess it was 3 years late.
I never really felt comfortable in the front. The Year 2s stand around, staring at me during the hike, going "Primer, where to now?"
The sheer feeling of helplessness when I(We) got lost. The worry and anxiety when Year 2s and Year 5s started falling sick. When people went missing, only to show up later (having been involved in 'other business')...the feelings are hard to describe.
Perhaps there is more to being a shepherd than just standing in the front. Or perhaps I am getting this all wrong.
I am not a leader.
Yet somehow, somewhere, I find myself in BB Steering Committee, the "leading" body of the Boy's Brigade. Granted, I am but a mere secretary, yet it would seem I am still considered "Steering".
By the grace of the Officers, God, and the rest of my Peers, I made it through LDC without dying from stress. (Thanks to one Officer in particular, your words really helped me through). Life really is about people. The relationships, the bonds, and as a certain person likes putting it, all about politics. People Politics.
I have Dreams for myself. Dreams I would like see through. I suppose everyone has them as well.
Somewhere, somehow, there must be a balance. Between the dreams we wish to have, and the dreams others wish to obtain. The middle ground, where we walk the same path, diverting sometimes, getting lost sometimes, yet still work together towards the same destination, although our goals may be different.
Responsibility and Ability.
Duty and Dreams.
Each and every person, living with what they have, seeking the life they want; always chasing, always looking, walking the thin line between selfishness and matrydom, the tightrope of society.
Perhaps thats what life's all about.
Funny how the Leadership Development Camp for the Year 2s turned out to be one for me as well.
Guess it was 3 years late.
I never really felt comfortable in the front. The Year 2s stand around, staring at me during the hike, going "Primer, where to now?"
The sheer feeling of helplessness when I(We) got lost. The worry and anxiety when Year 2s and Year 5s started falling sick. When people went missing, only to show up later (having been involved in 'other business')...the feelings are hard to describe.
Perhaps there is more to being a shepherd than just standing in the front. Or perhaps I am getting this all wrong.
I am not a leader.
Yet somehow, somewhere, I find myself in BB Steering Committee, the "leading" body of the Boy's Brigade. Granted, I am but a mere secretary, yet it would seem I am still considered "Steering".
By the grace of the Officers, God, and the rest of my Peers, I made it through LDC without dying from stress. (Thanks to one Officer in particular, your words really helped me through). Life really is about people. The relationships, the bonds, and as a certain person likes putting it, all about politics. People Politics.
I have Dreams for myself. Dreams I would like see through. I suppose everyone has them as well.
Somewhere, somehow, there must be a balance. Between the dreams we wish to have, and the dreams others wish to obtain. The middle ground, where we walk the same path, diverting sometimes, getting lost sometimes, yet still work together towards the same destination, although our goals may be different.
Responsibility and Ability.
Duty and Dreams.
Each and every person, living with what they have, seeking the life they want; always chasing, always looking, walking the thin line between selfishness and matrydom, the tightrope of society.
Perhaps thats what life's all about.